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THE xiCTING DRAMA, 



No. 183. 



LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM. 



NEW YOEK: 

EOOIIBACH & Co., PUBLISHERI 



What Shall We Act ? Being a description of Plays adapter! to 
Private Theatricals, giving a cast of the character.s, the scenery and costume required, 
liiae of representation, and an analysis of each play. Price, lO cents, 

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LIST OF PLAYS 

PUBLISHED BY 

No. 9 MUB^KAY STEEET, NEW YORK. 



I=>rioe, IS Oents Eaoli. 



Advice Gratis. 

Afloat and Ashore. 

All's Fair in Love and War. 

All In Der Family. 

AUaddin and the Wonderful 
Lamp. 

Antony and Cleopatra Mar- 
ried and Settled. 

Ask no Questions. 

Aunl Dinah's Pledge. 

Babes in the Wood, The. 

Bacrielor's Bed-room. The. 

Bad Temper, A. 

BailifiTs Daughter, The. 

Beauty and the Beast. 

Betsy's Profile. 

Big Banana, The. 

Black Crook Burlesque. 

Blue Beard. 

Boarding School, The. 

Bric-a-Brac. 

Broken Promises. 

Broken Seal, The. 

Cabin Boy. The. 

Camilla. 

Carried by Assault. 

Caste. 

Caught in his Own Toils. 

Champagne 

Changelings (The); or. 
Which is Which? 

Charity. 

Child of Circumstance, The. 

Cinderella. 

Clancarty (Lady). 

Closing of The ''Eagle," The. 

Comedy of Errors, burlesque. 

Cousin Florence. 

Cousin to Them All, A. 

Cross Purposes. 

Crumpled Rose Leaf, A. 

Cure for Coquettes, A. 

Daiicihg Barber, The. 

Dark Deeds. 

Dark Noiglit's Business, A. 

Dawn ef Love, The. 

Decree of Divorce, The. 

Deeds of Dreadful Note. 

*' Diplomacy." 

Don't Marry a Drunkard to 
Reform Him. 

Dot Mad Tog. 

Dot Madrimonial Adverdise- 
ment. 

Dot Quied Lotgings. 

Drunkard's Homo, The. 

Drunkard's Waraing, The. 



Dutchman in Ireland. 

Eligible Situation, An. 

Fairy Freaks. 

Family Pictures. 

Family Pride. 

Fast Family, The. 

Feast, The. 

Fenian Spy, The. 

Fifteen Years of a Drunk- 
ard's Life. 

Fireside Diplomacy. 

Foresight ; or. MV Daugh- 
ter's Dowry . 

Frog Pnnce, The. 

Fruits of the Wine-Cup, 

Furnished Apartments. 

Oabrielle de Belle Isle, 

Game of Billiards, A. 

Gay Old Man Am I, A- 

Getting up in the World. 

Girls of the Period, The. 

Going Through Him. 

Grace Darling. 

Gray Mare, A. 

Great Arrival, The. 

Great Eastern, The. 

Hamlet the Dainty. 

Happy Dispatch, The. 

Harlequin Little Red Riding 
Hood. 

Harvest Storm, The. 

Hasty Conclusion, A. 

His First Brief. 

H.M.S. Pinafore. 

Hop of Fashion, The. 

How to Settle Accounts With 
Your Laundress. 

Hurrah for Paris 1 

I'll Tell Your Wife. 

I Love Your Wife. 

Ingomar. 

Innumaiu 

Irish Dragoon. 

Irish Engagement, An. 

Jack, The Giant Killer. 

Jack's the Lad. 

Juliet's Love Letter. 

Katharine and Petruchio. 

La Cigale. 

Last Drop, The. 

Last Lily, The. 

Law Allows it, The. 

Leedle Mistake, A. 

Let Those Laugh Who Win. 

Limerick Boy, The, (Paddy 
Miles' Boy). 

Little Red Riding Hood. 



Little Silver Hair and the 

Three Bears. 
Locked Door, The. 
Lonely Pollywog of the Mill 

Pond, The.. 
Lost Heir, The. 
Love, burlesque. 
Love and Money. 
Love Flower, The. 
Love Master— Love Man. 
Loves of Little Bo-Peep, 

The. 
Love to Msisic. 
Lucy's Love Lesson. 
Lying in Ordinary. 
Lyrical Lover, 
Mad Astronomer, A. 
Male and Female. 
Married Widows. The. 
Marry in faste and Repent 

at Leisure. 
Masquerading for Two, 
Matched, but not Mated. 
Matrimony. ♦ 

Maud's Command. 

Mazeppa, burlesque, 
odical Man, A. 
Middle Temple, The. 
Mischievous Bob. 
Miseries of Human Life, 
Money Makes the Man. 
Monsieur Pierre. 
More Blunders Than One. 
Mother and Child are Doing 

Well, The. 
Mothers and Fathers. 
Mrs. Sairev Gamp's Tea and 

Turn Out. 
Mulcahy's Cat. 
Muolo, The Monkey. 
My Friend in the Straps 
My Precious Betsy. 
Mystic Spell, The. 
Oh, My Uncle! 
One Must Marry. 
Original, The. 
Othello, burlesque. 
Ould Man's Coat Tails. 
Our Mary Anne. 
Our Professor. 
Out ill the Streets. 
Out of the Depths. 
Patches and Powder. 
Peculiar Position, A. 
Penelope Anne. 
Perfection: or, Ttie Cork Leg. 
Persecuted Dutchman^ Tlso. 



CONTINUED ON THIRD PAGE OF COVER. 



LOVERS YOUNG DEEAM. 



A DOMESTIC DRAMA 



IN ONE ACT 



"mar 29 1883 ' 



ROORBACH & CO., PUBLIgfllB.^; 

No. 9 MURRAY STREET. 



1 c ■ o 



LOVE'S YOUNG DEEAM. 



CHARACTERS. 

Edward Greville . Aged 40 

Mr. Melbourne (Alice's Father) Aged 65 

Cecil Yatasottr — Aged 25 

Alicb GrEVILIE _ Aged 37 

Florence (Alice's Daughter) » , Aged 18' 



Costumes, Modern. 



topyright, 1882, by KoorSach & C6. 



LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM. 



QCK'NE.— Drawing-room at Me. Melbourne's. Fireplace C, French 
loindow, B. C. opening on to garden ; out-door to conservatory; L. C; 
doors B. and L 1 E.; piano, L,; small table and arm-chair, B.; sofa, 
L. C; three or four chairs about stage, books, card receiver with 
cards, etc., on table; flowers on mantle. 

Florence discovered at piano, running her fingers over the keys. 

Flo. I wish to goodness I could sing ! I don't know anything more 
provoking than to hear other people sing beautifully, and not to be able 
to do it oneself. Yes, there is one thing more provoking, and that is to 
hear those other people praised by — well, by somebody whose praise one 
wants to keep all to oneself. ISTever mind, I can play. (Suits action 
to the word.) Grandpa says I can bring thunder and lightning out of 
the piano. (Cecil Yavasour appears at window, B. C.) I. feel rather 
stormy at this moment. (Plays vehemently.) 

Cecil [rather timid). Miss Greville ! 

Flo. [not hearing). There's a fiash of lightning 

Cecil, (louder). Miss Greville ! 

Flo. {not hearing). There's a peal of thunder 

Cecil (still louder). Florence ! 

Flo. (stops playing). Eh? (Twists round on music stool.) Oh, 
Mr. Yavasour, is that you ? Why did you not sav that you were 
there ? 

Cecil (advancing). Well, in a quiet sort of way I was endeavoring 
to make you aware of my presence. 

Flo. (rising). You ought to have coughed, or sneezed, or knocked a 
chair down, or something; nobody likes to be caught practicing their 
scales. (Crosses B.) Or why didn't you ring the front-door bell, and 
be announced formally ? 

Cecil. 1 thought it was rather too early for a formal morning 
call 

Flo. It's ten o'clock ; you would not come and make a morning call 
in the middle of the afternoon, I suppose. 

Cecil. I say, don't be angry with me, Florence ; you know you 
haven't said how do you do yet. (Holds out his hand.) 

Flo. Of course; if you wish to be ceremonious— there ! 

(Giving him her hand.) 

Cecil [retaining her hand). I like being ceremonious sometimes. 



4 LOTE'S YOU¥G DREAM. 

Flo. Indeed ! And may I ask wliat ceremony yon propose to go 
tlirougli with my hand ? 

Cecil. Well, the marriage ceremony, one of these days. 

Flo. (snatching Jier hand away). Oh, Mr. Yavasour, how dare you 
say snch things ! Pray remember that we have known each other for 
barely a month. (Sits, B.) 

Cecil. But that's no fault of mine. (Leaning over her chair, r.) I 
never had the happy chance of meeting you before, and you must ad- 
mit that I have done my very best to make up for lost time ever 
since. 

Flo. I am afraid I ought to scold you — ^you have been dreadfully 
forward. 

Cecil. It wouldn't do for me to be backward at my time of life. I 
have reached the mature age of twenty-five (goes dehind chair), and 
now I want to be married. 

Flo. (demurely). I am sure I don't want to prevent you from being 
married, Mr. Yavasour. 

Cecil. Oh, I am so glad to hear you say that. 

Flo. And if I can say a good word for you to Miss Rushton, whose 
singing you admired so much last night 

Cecil. Oh, Miss Rushton be hanged ! (Crosses to C.) 

Flo. What for ? Murdering that song ? 
. Cecil. Oh, come, I say, Florence ! 

Flo. (rising). Cecil Yavasour, Esquire, I must remind you that 
mamma is absent from home, and that grandpa is in the library, and 
I am sure he would be very angry if he heard you call me Florence. 

Cecil. Then he shan't hear me ; I will only breathe it in a whisper. 
'Now don't tease me any more; let us sit down quietly and discuss the 
situation. {They sit together on sofa, L.) Three weeks ago 

Flo. Mamma went to Boston to see an old aunt of hers who was 
always very fond of her 

Cecil. I know— but three weeks ago I came into this neighbor- 
hood 

Flo. Three weeks all but three days. 

Cecil. I spoke in round figures. 

Flo. Ton like round figures — Miss Rushton is as round as a dump- 
ling. 

Cecil. Be quiet. I came to stay with your neighbors, the Dunnings 
You and I have met at dinner parties, water parties, garden parties, 
archery parties 

Flo. Stupid parties. 

Cecil (warmly). I^Tever ! For you were always there. 

Flo. Yes, but so were you ! 

Cecil Do you mean to say you found me stupid ? 

Flo. Dcm't be rude— we found each other. 

Cecil. I fell desperately in love with vou. 

Flo.^ You did. 

Cecil. You perpetually reminded me of the absence of your mamma. 
;nd you said you ought to wiite to tell her all about me. 

Flo. You did. 

Cecil And did you? 

Flo. No. 

Cecil. Why on earth did you not ? 



LOVE'S TOUXG DREAM. 5 

Flo. "Well, you see — don't be angry — hut I felt so very shy about it 
all, and mamma never seems to like having people talk about love and 
marriage and so on, and besides 

Cecil. Well, what besides ? 

Flo. Well— please don't be angry— but it vras such a long time before 
I Knew how to spell your name— Yavasour — such a funiiy name, you 
know, and so, somehow or other, I have never mentioned your name in 
my letters. 

Cecil. ISTever mentioned my name ! 

Flo. Never till last night. I began writing a long letter to mamma, 
and I told her all about you, how that you are staying with the Duu- 
ningi — that you haven't^ got any father or motJier — that is right, 
isn't it ? 

Cecil. Tes, my father died a few years ago. He was a great invalid. 
He was wounded in a duel, I believe, though I never heard the facts of 
the story, and he never quite recovered. As to my mother, I remember 
nothing about her hardly. I never saw much of her. She and my 
father were not on good terms, I have heard, and were separated, and 
she died abroad some fourteen years ago. 

Flo. {tenderly). Poor Cecil ! And you are left all by yourself. 

Cecil. That I may give myself absolutely to you ! 

F'lo. And are you very, very fond of me? 

Cecil. I am very, very fond of you. 

Flo. (jmrqnng up). Then I had better go and finish my letter to 
mamma, and mention that in a postscript. (Crosses to R.) 

Mel. [without). Florence, Florence! (Cecil rises and goes, E.) 

Flo. Ah, here's grandpa. Don't go, Cecil, grandpa likes you so 
much. Says he was just like you when he was a boy. 

Enter Melbourne, L. 

Mel. (he has an open telegram in his hand). Here's news, Florence, 
here's news. (/S'ees Vavasour). Aha, Vavasour, my boy, how are you? 
How well you are looking ! And up and about so early, too ! When I 
was your age I was just like you, and 

Flo. [L. C, impatiently). " The telegram, grandpa, the news 

Mel. [C.) Oh, ah, yes, well, it seems this telegram ought to have 
been here before this. It was sent last night, and it has only just 
arrived. Really, I must write to the Superintendent 

Flo. Tes, but what is it all about? why don't you tell me ?— no bad 
news, I hope. 

Mel. Oh, no; it's good news— that is, in one sense it's good news, 
and in another sense (Cecil crosses tojriano and examines music). 

Flo. Oh, grandpa, you'll fidget me to death. {Snatches telegram). 
Why it's from mamma, dated last night at Boston, [reads) " Am leaving 
ft)r N"ew York to-night ; shall come down by nine train. Fever next 
door and aunt alarmed." Poor old auntie, she's always ranning away 
from something or other. But, good gracious, gi-andpa. the train is due 
at the station now, and there will be no carnage to meet mother ! 

Mel. Oh, that's all right, my love. I got this telegram a quarter of 
an hour ago, and I told the coachman to go ofi" at once. I should have 
told you all about it sooner, only as I was in the stables there were two 
or three little things wanted looking after. [Goes up to fireplace, C. ) 



6 LOYE'S TOUE'G DREAM. 

Mo. (looMng at Cecil). Mother coming home a fortnight sooner than 
she intended; and I have never written a word about ^o it / My good- 
ness, Cecil, what's to be done 1 

Cecil {L.) Well — she can't eat ns, can she ? If vou have not written 
you will have all the more to say, you know. 

Flo. Ah ! but you don't know mamma! He doesn't know mamma, 
grandpa, does he? (Goes up to Melbourne, C.) 

Mel. I rather think your mamma had gone away before Mr. Yavasour 
came, my precious. 

Flo. Oh ! but I don't mean that ! Tou know how she hates lovers 
and romance, and good-looking young men, and says she dosen't want 
me to marry for ever such a time. (Earnestly) Grandpa, why does 
mother always talk like that to me ? 

Mel. Eh'? Oh I it's her way, my child, it's her way ! 

(Turns away as if embarrassed.) 

Flo. But surely, grandpa, she must have had lovers, and romances 
— and 

Mel. (tcith a forced laugh). Oh, no doubt, no doubt — ^how should I 
know ? 

Flo. You are her father and watched over her. 

Mel. (eagerly). That s it — ^that's it— and she watches over you, my 
precious — and I watch, too. 

Flo. Tou don't object to Mm f (Indicating Cecil. ) 

Mel. ITo, I don't know that I object to him — ^he's very young, 
though. 

Flo. "Why, do you want me to marry an old — old man, like 

Mel. like me ? 

Flo. Oh, not so old as you, of course. I was thinking of a stranger 
I met in the lane this morning. ( Comes down, C. ) 

Mel. A stranger 1 (Follotoing down.) 

Cecil (excitedly). A stranger! I say, Florence, you haven't men- 
tioned this interesting fact before. (Sits on bacJc of sofa, L.) 

Flo. I had forgotten all about it. Directly after breakfast I went up 
into the village to see old Mrs. Carberry, who has been very ill, and 
coming back I met a cow. 

Cecil. Oh, I was afraid you met a gentleman ! 

Flo. Don't be silly. The cow had a calf 

Mel. What a remarkable cow 1 (Sits on sofa. ) 

Flo. (B. C. ) Be quiet. My Skye terrier Dandy was with me, and 
I snatched bim up in my arms, and carried him past the cow, and oh ! 
Dandy did struggle so ; and when I put him down I found I had drop- 
ped my handkerciiief and a little purse, and as I was going back to look 
for them I met a grave gentleman whom I had never seen before. Ho 
took off his hat very politely, and said, "I think you must have drop- 
ped these/' and he gave me my handkerchief and purse. I was rather 
confused, and hardly said thank you, for Dandy began to bark, and the 
cow looked round, and so I ran off home as fast as I could. 

Cecil {rising and coming, C.) And was this interesting stranger an 
old, old man ? 

Flo. Well, no, not so old as all that ; but his hair was gray, and he 
had a sorrowful face— but it was a nice face, too. 

Mel. I wonder who it could have been. Ah, very likely it was the 
new organist. 



LOYE'S YOUNG DREAM. [f 

Flo. Grandpapa ! 

Mel. Or the man come doTvn from town to put the church clock 
right. 

Flo. Oh, grandpa, the stranger was a gentleman, every inch of him. 
But, goodness me ! never mind' about him. The carriage will be back 
from the station directly, and mamma must not find Mr. Yavasom- here. 
(To Cecil.) I must break you to her gently. 

Cecil. Don't let her break my heart, that's all. 

Flo. (tenderly). Would it break your heart if mamma took a violent 
dislike to you, and said I was never to see you again ? 

Cecil. It would give me a great, deep wound which would never 
heal. 

Flo. You shall never suffer even the tiniest scratch if I can help 
it. 

Cecil. My little angel ! {Tlieij go up to B. C.) 

Mel. (aside). They don't mind me at all ! 

Flo. There, run away, you Cecil boy, and come back again in an 
horn'— no more nonsense— be off! (She yuslies Mm out by vnndow into 
garden, B., then she turns round with a troubled expression to her 
grandfather, and then says in an earnest voice) Grandpa ! (Comes down 
and kneels by Melbourne's side.) 

Mel. Yes, my darling. 

Flo. Do you dote upon me ? 

Mel. E'eed you ask the question? Isn't every thought of my life de- 
voted to you ? 

Flo. I think so. "Was my father very fond of me ? 

Mel. (starting slightly). Your— your— father ! Oh, yes, of course 
he was ; but you were very little when— when 

Flo. When he went away to travel, and died in a far-off country. 
If he was so fond of me why did he go away ? 

Mel. Well— well — ^he went away — because — ^because he was a restless 
man and wanted change. 

Flo. And then he died— away from us all ! How sad ! (Starts up . ) 
Hush? There is the carriage! (Melbourne rises and crosses to B.) 
Mamma has come back— Oh, I am so glad ' (Bushes to door and then 
stops. Alice's voice is heard without, calling," Florence ! Florence I") 
Grandpa, not a word about Mr. Yavasour— leave all that to me, or you 
will make a dreadful mess of it. (Throws door open.) Ah, here is 
mamma. 

Enter Alice, L., Florence throws herself in her arms. 

Alice (embracing Florence). My darling child ! Ah, how de- 
lighted I am to be with you again ! And papa, too — you both look as 
well as possible. You seem to have been taking great care of each 
other. 

(Alice, C; Melbourne,!^.; Florence, X.) 

Flo. yes, mamma, indeed we have. And grandpa has been such a 
good boy, I assure you he has not caused me a moment's uneasi- 

Mel. (aside). I wish I could return the compliment. (Aloud to Al- 
ice.) ' Ah, yes, my love, we have been getting along pretty weU in our 



W\ LOYE'S YOUI^a DREAM. 

respective walks of life. (Alice goes up, taking off gloves. Melbourne 
crosses, L. ) I don't think we could have got along much faster. Eh, 
little puss ? 

Flo. (nudging liim). Be quiet ! 

Mel. {aside to her). Oh, I forgot. 

Flo. {whispering). Don't do it again. 

Alice {half observing them). Why, what is all this mystery? {Comes 
doivn,B.; Melbourne, C.) 

Flo. N^othing, mamma, nothing-. Grandpa gets younger and 
younger every day, and the trouble I ha-^-e to keep him in order ! 

{Shaking her fist at him.) 

Alice. My dear Florence, you talk as if grandpapa was getting into 
a second childhood. 

Mel. Aha ! I^Tot I ! not yet, no, no. I shall dandle a great grand- 
child on my knee before 

Alice {sharply). Father, I heg {Goes up, B. C, and begins tak- 
ing off her cloak. ) 

Flo. {in the same tone). Grandpa, Fm shocked ! 

{Helps her mother.) 

Mel. {aside). I nearly let the cat out of the bag ! I hate cats in 
bags ! they always scratch their way out when I have charge of them. 

{Sits, L.) 

Alice {B.) And so grandpapa has been very tiresome, has he? 
Dear me ! I dare say, if the truth were told, he might say pretty much 
the same of you, puss ! "Well, you must tell me all about it. 

Flo. {L.) Oh, yes, mamma, I have such lots to tell you. 

Alice. I thought you would have , because, do you know, darHttg, 
your letters sometimes have been slightly incoherent. 

Flo. Incoherent ? 

Alice. Yes ; you have jumped about from one thing to another — 
mixed up the Dunnings with the Bishop ; jumbled lawn-tennis with the 
sermon on Sunday ; confused funerals with archery parties ; and put 
the butcher's and baker's accounts in the middle of Cinderella dances ! 
Oh, what a topsy-turvey head my child has got ! {Kissing her.) There, 
run away, darling, and make me some tea, which I will have up stairs, 
and tell Eose to put me out a comfortable gown. I long to get off these 
dusty things. * 

Flo. Yes, mamma, the tea shall be ready directly. [Kisses her 
mother and goes to door, L., turns and ?oofe <2^ Melbourne, and 
places her finger on her lips enjoining silence, and runs out). 

Alice [seating herself in arm-chair, B.) What a comfort to be at. 
home again ! 

Mel. I am delighted to have you back again, my child . My wonder 
is that you have stayed away so long. I thought you were only going 
to Boston for a week. 

Alice. I never intended to come back sooner. 

Mel. You surprise me ! You never hinted 

Alice. Could not you comprehend ? Had I been at home a few days 
ago I should have had to go north to my niece's marriage. 

Mel. Ah ! to be sure ! And you stayed away on purpose ? 

Alice. Are you astonished at that V You know how for years past I 
have invented every excuse I could think of to keep away from these 



LOYE'S YOUXG DREAM. 9 

ceremonies {Bises). Why, father, what should I do at such scenes ? 
{G-oes L.) I should be like a spectre at a banquet. 

Mel. I know, my love, that such things have ceased to interest jou. 

Alice, Interest me ! I hate them. And il I had gone I should have 
had to take Florence with me, and who knows what silly notions might 
have entered into her head. 

Mel. {aside). Oh, my gocdlQcss ! {Aloud.) Still, my darling, I can't 
help observing that the visit to her uncle's house might have given her 
a great deal of pleasure ; for on these occasions the young people 
generally have a good deal of amusement, you know. 

Alice. Amusement! Two young creatures, knowing next to nothing 
of the world, and very little of each other, enter blindfold into the most 
solemn of all human contracts, and the world calls it an occasion of con- 
gratulation, feasting, and amusement. 

{Goes B., and looks at cards in card basJcet.) 

Mel. That is the general impression, certainly. 

Alice. And like most general impressions, it is false. Marriage is, at 
the best, an experiment in life. Eappy they whose future years are not 
permanently injured by the process. 

Mel. In my case, my darling, the result was eminently satisfactory. 

Alice. Ah, papa, you and my mother were the exceptions that try the 
rule. {Goes dack of sofa and leans ever Melbourne. ) Of com-se, I 
know that Florence will iix her heart on somebody some day. T^^ell, I 
shall be there, if my life is spared, and I shall judge her lover carefully. 
But what nonsense we are talking— forgive my excitement, papa, I sup- 
pose I am rather tired. 

Mel. (rises). You think too much of your own sad past, my darling. 

Alice. ISTo, not too much, if my miserable fate can save my child 
from such a sea of sorrow. There," I am not going to think any more 
about it now. We are not going to lose our Florence yet, are we, dear "i 
There is plenty of time to think about that ! I must go to her now, she 
is waiting for me. I shall be down again directly. (Exit. Alice, L.) 

Mel. This is excessively awkward ! I don't think I ever was in such 
an unpleasant position in my life. I feel as if I had been guilty of some 
hideous crime. {Sits B.) Poor Alice! I wonder what she will say 
when she hears about this young Yavasour. I can't help feeling rather 
relieved that Florence wants to tell all about it herself, Ah ! poor 
Alice ! It will be hard for both of us to part with Florence— the sun- 
shine of the house — the bright ministering angel of my old age. An 
uncommonly tiresome little angel at times, all the same. Yet, if she 
really loves this Cecil — if it would break her heart to separate them— 
Ah! Heaven knows, Fve seen all that such a separation means ! Oh 
tender love of boy and girl ! It is the memory of those di'eams of youth 
that makes us old men feel young again when our feet are tottering 
beside the grave. 

Be-enter Florence, L. She carefully closes the door behind her. 

Flo. Grandpa, grandpa ! Are you asleep ? 

Mel. {looking up). What, you come back, little torment? Why 
have you left your mother ? 

Flo. I am going to tell you. Mamma is in such a heavenly temper, 
and she seems so dreadfully fond of me, and so delighted to find herself 



10 LOYE'S YOUi^rG DREAM. 

at home again, and she is enjoying her tea, and dosen't seem a bit tired, 
that I think we may venture to tell her. 

Mel. Tell her ? Oh, about that Dresden cup you broke ? 

Flo. No, no, about Cecil. 

Mel. Oh — ah — yes. [Eises.) Don't you think we had better wait a 
month or two before we say anything about him ? 

Flo. A month or two ! Good gracioui?, grandpa, you talk as if wo 
were all going to live to the age of Methuselah ! 'No, well break it to 
her this morning. I will tell her all about him, and then you shall 
bring him in and show him, and when mamma sees him, why she will 
be almost as much in love with him as I am. 

Mel. Yery well, my love, only be cautious, be diplomatic, be econ- 
omical ; don't let all your good things out at once. Let your mother 
down easily, my dear, for otherwise you may startle her into saying 
no ! 

Flo. (caressing liim). In that case, dear, we shall both have to use 
all our arts to soothe her into saying '^ Yes." There, run ou.t into the 
garden ; you are sure to find Cecil prowling about the garden gate that 
leads into the lane. i She pulls Mm towards garden loindow, It.) 

Mel. Ah, a very convenient gate, that— a short cut to the drawing- 
room windows, and avoids the publicity of bells and servants. Master 
Cecil found that out a week ago. 

Flo. ISTow, grandpa, go ! 

Mel. Without my hat and my stick ? IsTo, no, I don't mind going 
out by the front door. {Exit, L.) 

Flo. Dear old grandpa ! I know he'll help us all he can. But now 
it is coming to the point I am dreadfully afraid of what mamma will 
say. She always speaks so coldly and bitterly if any one talks of love 
and romance. I wonder why ! If poor papa were alive and here, I 
wonder if he would feel for me, and be kind to Cecil. [Looldng toioards 
window, E.) Some one's footsteps on the gi'avel walk! perhaps it is 
Cecil— he always is so impatient — I must tell him to wait a little longer. 
[Euns up to loindoio, but starts back, as Greville suddenly appears on 
the threshold.) 

Grev. I beg you a thousand pardons. I fear I have mistaken the 
path. Ah ! the young lady that I had the pleasure of meeting a little 
while ago in the lane. (Comes down, C.) 

Flo. Yes, and I didn't thank j-ou for picking up my handkerchief and 
purse— and I am so sorry Dandy barked at you— I hope he didn't 
frighten you. 

Grev. {smiling.) ]S"ot so much as the cow frightened you, certainly. 
But I really am frightened now, for I have to ask you to forgive my 
sudden intrusion. I am a stranger in this part of the world, and I was 
directed to this house as Maple wood Grange. 

Flo. This is Maplewood Grange. 

Grev. Then I am all right, but must still apologise for having taken 
the wrong path through the garden. Is Colonel Lyndsay at home? 

Flo. Colonel Lyndsay ! Oh, no ; he has gone away. Grandpapa 
bought the Grange from him quite a year ago. 

Grev. Gone away ! I am sadly disappointed. The Colonel and I 
were great friends on the other side of the world. He returned to 
America some few years ago. We have corresponded frequently, 
but recently I have not heard from him. No doubt I can find him. 



LOVE'S YOUN^G DREAM. 11 

Flo. He was obliged to go abroad for his health, I believe. 

Grev. Gone abroad ! 

Flo. Algiers, I think. 

Grev. So far ! 

Flo. I fear you are much disappointed. But I have no doubt 
mamma, or grandpapa, can give you the address of Colonel Lindsay's 
agents. 

Grev. I want something more than that. Colonel Lindsay told me 
in one of his latest letters that he had become acquainted with a family 
I am. anxious to find in America. However, it is only a matter of time. 
Pray, forgive me for having so unceremoniously and so unnecessarily 
obtruded myself upon you. Good morning. {Goes up, E.) 

Flo. Oh, please wait a moment— you have had a long journey, pos- 
sibly — pray sit down, and let me find grandpapa, and perhaps he can 
give you the informi'tion you desire. 

G7'ev. (Putting Ms hat doivn on chair up, E.) You really are a most 
kind little lady. I am giving you a great deal of trouble. ' 

{Comes, C., to her.) 

Flo. 'Not at all. {Crosses to E.) Pray sit down and rest yourself. 
[Points to arm cj^air. Greville gazes at her but does not move.) Won't 
you obSge me ? 

Grev. {advancing). I hope you won't think me very impertinent, but 
on the little purse that I picked up I fancied I read, in small gold letters, 
the name Florence. 

Flo. Yes — my name. 

Grev. Florence ! Is your name Florence ? 

Flo. Certainly. "Why, you seem astonished. It is n 3t uncommon. 

Grev. No, no ; but I have a daughter named Florence. 

Flo. Is she like me ? 

Grev. I cannot say, for I have not seen her for a long, long time. 

Flo. Indeed ! How old is she ? 

Grev. Eighteen. 

Flo. Just my age. l^ow do sit down. 'Crosses to L. C, to table.) 
Here is the paper, and I will xun away and find grandpapa. 

{Goes towards conservatory.) 

Grev. One moment — kindly tell me your grandfather's name. 

Flo. Mr. Melbourne. {Moves off.) 

Grev. {aside). Great heavens ! Melbourne ! {Aloud, nervously.) 
And— your mother ? 

Flo. She is Mrs. Greville. {Euns off into conservatory loithout ob- 
serving the effect the names have on Greville.) 

Grev. Melbourne! Florence! {Goes up to L. C.) My child— my 
« child! {Sinks into chair.) Is it thus we meet, after so many years ? 
And Alice— what of her! {Eises.) No— I must go. Lynd say wrote 
to me that he had met them, and I hoped to have news of them from 
him — I come to seek him, and I find them ! What right have I to be 
here in Alice's house? Her home— not mine! AndVhen my child 
comes back and I see those sweet eyes and golden hair, and know that 
my arms may not enfold her, my lips may not touch her innocent face — 
oh, I dare not stay — I must go— I must go ! 

{Eushes up E. to door into garden. Florence returns.) 

Flo. If you please, Mr. —(Greville stops.) I beg your pardon, 



12 ' LOYE'S YOUisTG DREAM. 

but I forgot to ask your name. Grrandpapa has gone out, but you can 
wait in bis room. I will look for him in the garden. 

Grev. {with diffictdty recovering Ms self-possession.) It is unneces- 
sary. I must catch the train back to town. 

Flo. There is no train for quite two hours. Do let me fetch him. 

Grev. I can write to him ; you have told me that your grandfather's 
name is Melbourne — and — to tell you the truth — it is strange — but it is 
his address I came to ask Colonel Lyndsay for. 

Flo. How very odd ; but how very fortunate ? 

G7'ev. I have traveled a long way to see him — to see you. 

Flo. To see me! (Aside.) Cecil won't like this. What can he 
mean? (Goes down L. C.) 

Grev. I will explain in a momerst ; but first tell me— your mother — 
Mrs. Greville, is she well ? 

Flo. Quite well, thanks. 

Grev. And — happy ? 

Flo. Perfectly. What else should she be ? I always say we are the 
real original happy family. 

Grev. Who ? 

Flo. Grandpa, mamma and I. 

Grev. Thank God for that ! 

Flo. I do — morning and night. But if you have come sucli a long 
way to see me [timidly) might I. ask why — and what is your name ? 

Grev. I will tell Mr. Melbourne my name. I have come to see you 
because I am charged with a message from one whom you have forgot- 
ten, but who never ceased to think of you. 

Flo. Is it possible ! Who was that ? 

Grev. Tour— father ! 

Flo. Papa ! But he has been dead for years. 

Grev. (aside). And they have taught her that I hat right has he 
to come to life again ? 

Flo. Were you a great friend of poor papa ? 

Grev. 1 knew him intimately. 

^^0. Were you with him when he died ? 

Grev. I was with him when you lost him. 

Flo. And what was his message? 

Grev. That he bitterly repented ever having left you— that the image 
of his golden-haired little daughter was before his eyes night a,nd day — 
that he implored you with his latest breath to hold his memory dear, in 
spite of his desertion. 

Flo. Desertion ! He was restless, and went away to travel. I don't 
call that by so harsh a name. ^ (Goes up, C.) 

Grev. (aside, crossing to L.) She knows nothing! 

Flo. [coming down, B.) How could he think his memory could be 
anything but dear —most dear, to me ? cruel papa ! 

Grev. (going to her). Have you any recollection of him ? 

Flo. I remember him once coming up to my nursery and taking me 
out of my cot and kissing me most fimdly— it was one night. 

Grev. (aside). That fatal night ! Oh, God, forgive me ! 

Flo. But I remember nothing more. And do you know, it is very 
sad, but we have no portrait of him. Oh, you were a great friend of his 
perhaps you have a portrait — could you show me his face. 

Grev, Yes, I could show you his "face. 



LOYE'S YOU¥G DEEAM. 13 

Flo. And you will^ won't you ! I should so love to see his face 
again ! 

Grev. Perhaps some day 

Flo, Oh, delightful ! • Do you know you have not shaken hands with 
me ! 

Grev. As a stranger I feared— but now {seizes licr hands) Oh, 

Florence ! 

Flo. There are tears in your eyes. You must have been very fond 
of poor papa. You may kiss me if you wish to. 

Grev. Ah ! {is about to Iciss her, hut draws hack. Aside). 2Sro, noth- 
ing but her mother's pardon can give me the right to that. ( Tie simply 
places his hand upon her head. Aloud) God bless you, my child ! 

{She crosses, L.) 

Flo. And now let me run and fetch mamma. 

Grev. [stopping her). 'So, no, not yet. Listen to me. You are a 
brave and sensible girl, and I want you to do as I ask you. I want you 
to promise me to do as I ask you. Remember, I am carrying out your 
father's wishes. 

Flo. Then I will promise anything. 

Grev Do not say one word to your mother about me until I have 
seen your grandfather. It is necessary that I should see him first. You 
understand, not one word. {Goes up, B., for his hat). 

Flo. IS'ot one syllable. Hush ! I hear mamma coming down. See 
[showing conservatory at L.) You can go through the conservatory 
into the hall and find grandpa. Quick ! 

Grev. {as he goes out). Keep the secret. 

(Greville goes into conservatory.) 

Flo. ]^ow 1 have got two secrets from mamma. Oh, it's awful. 
Woil, I shall soon get rid of Cecil's, and then shall have time to think 
about the other. Poor papa ! 

Enter Alice, L. 

Alice. "WTiy, you naughty little puss, you never came as you 
promised, to finish your gossip while I was dressing. 

Flo. I was just coming, mamma dear, but you see, grandpa 

Alice {looking round). But I don't see grandpapa. What has be- 
come of him ? 

Flo. {nervously). Why, he was here just now, and then he went out 
into the garden— to — to 

Alice. To tell the gardener to bring in some more flowers. You and 
grandpapa ought to be ashamed of yourself for what you have done. 

Flo. [alarmed). For what we have done ? 

Alice. I ought to say for what you have not done. You know that 
I love to have the room radiant with flowers, and you have only two or 
three wretched little nosegays. Eeally, I am quite ashamed of you and 
grandpapa ! 

Flo. {aside). Oh, dear, I hope we shan't be ashamed of ourselves 
by-and-bye. 

Alice. And the room is disgracefully untidy. I am afraid that you 
and grandpapa have been up to all sorts of mischief in my absence. 

Flo. [aside). I am afraid we have. 

Alice [at piano). Here's the piano dreadfully out of tune— what 



14 LOYE'S YOUNG DREAM. 

songs have yoa been practising ? [loolis at music on piano). *' Love's 
Young Dream," ''Oft in the stilly night/' "Forget thee! if to dream 
by night, and think of thee by day/' '' When we two parted m silence 
and tears/' " Good-bye, sweetheart, good-bye." My dear Florence, 
what m the name of goodness have you unearthed all this old rubbish 
for? 

Flo. {timidly). I don't know. Oh, yes— it was grandpapa, he had a 
fancy for the songs of his early years. 

Alice. Good gracious ! When he ought to be reading Jeremy Tay- 
lor's ''Holy Living and Dying." There! {putting the music away) 
don't let us have any more of this love-sick nonsense. JS^ow, come and 
sit down, and tell me all that has been going on whilst I have been 
away. (Alice sits in chair by little table, down B., and takes up 
work. ) 

Flo. (tidying books, and arranging flowers, etc.) I told you a great 
deal in my letters, mamma. 

Alice. "You did at first, but latterly your letters got to be very short 
and hurried ; they always ended abruptly with "no time for more/' or 
"post just going," or some such excuse. 

Flo. (quickly). Excuse, mamma. 

Alice. Well, those hasty terminations to letters are common forms, 
unconsciously used, perhaps, but still there is no mistaking them. I 
don't think I have been quite satisfied with your letters, Florence. 

Flo. Oh, mamma 1 And I took such pains with them. 

Alice. You did, indeed. It has become evident to me during the 
last ten days that you took great pains' to make your letters look as if 
they told everything, when as a matter of fact they omitted a great 
deal. 

Flo. (sitting on footstool at Alice's feet). Oh, mamma darling, you 
are angry with me. 

Alice. 'No, not angry, but— — 

Flo. I would not have you angry with me for all the world. 

Alice. I say that I am not angry, but I own that I am a little 
hurt. 

Flo. Hurt! 

Alice. Yes —that grandpapa should be in yom* secrets and not I. 

Flo. Mamma ? What makes you think that I have secrets ? 

Alice, (tenderly stroking her head). There, don't be frightened, my 
darling, I am not going to scold you: I am going to sit here quietly 
while you tell me all. 

Flo. But how did you guess— I mean what induced you to sup- 
pose 

Alice. Have you been my constant companion, my sweet, for eight- 
teen years without my having learnt to read you like a book ? Why, 
the very expressions in your letters, the very character of your hand- 
writing told me that there was something you were burning to say, and 
yet, for some reason or other, you could not say it. 

Flo. Oh, mamma, I am so sorry, but don't think I have been deceit- 
ful. I began such a long, letter to you last night, and if you had not 
come home so suddenly you would have had no cause to reproach 
me. 

Alice. Ah, perhaps it is just as well I did come home suddenly. 



LOYE'S TOUiS^G DREAM. 15 

People can tell their troubles^ darling, in far fewer and plainer words 
than they can write them. 

Flo. It is so difficult to begin. 

Alice. Shall I beg^n for you ? 

Flo. I don't think you coald, mamma. I don't think you could 
possibly gaess. 

Alice. Not guess that you fancy you are in love ! (Florence looks 
lip startled.) You are amazed that I have solved your poor little 
riddle ? W^^'^ ^"^^ ."^^^ dream that I, your mother, would not suspect 
the truth if I saw that your dear heart wandered for a moment from 
meV 

Flo. Ah, for you were in love once with papa. 

Alice (ivith a sudden expression of pain upon her face ivhich Flor- 
ence does not see). Yes, I was— once. 

Flo. passionately). Oh, then, recalling that you were once a girl 
like I am now, listen to me kindly, mother, when I confess to you that 
I am deeply in love. 

Alice {almost derisively). Deeply in love! A childish fancy ! A 
passing fascination ! 

Flo. Oh, mamma ! don't speak so bitterly ! Grandpapa has told me 
that you were married when you were my age. Was that a childish 
fancy— a passing fascination ? 

Alice {after a moment). ISTo. It was the first love of my life, and 
it was the last. 

Flo. Then judge me by yourself. Oh, mother, I love him so ! He is 
so good— so tender — such a thorough gentleman, and you need not fear 
that I have fallen in love with a penniless man, for he is rich, grandpa 
has found out. 

Alice {smiling). And the name of this paragon ? 

Flo. Cecil Yavasour. 

Alice {starting up). Cecil Yavasour ! 

Flo. Yes. 

Alice. Cecil Yavasour ! _ {Gets C.) 

Flo. Oh, m.amma, you frighteii me! 

Alice. Never let me hear that name again ! never repeat to me that 
you love him. Forget him, I command you. 

Flo. Oh, mother, mother ! 

Alice. I tell you, I would sooner see you die, than that you should 
take the name of Cecil Yavasour ! 

Flo. {sinking on sofa, L., sobbing). Oh, what has he done? Cecil! 
Cecil! {On the icord, Melbourne and Cecil appear at the garden 
door, R., Cecil comes in quickly and Melbourne /bZ/oif5.) 

Cecil {down B.) I am here, Florence ! (Melbourne at back of sofa.) 

Flo. Defend yourself. 

Cecil {astonished). From what? 

tlo. Rather ask, from whom ? 

Mel. My dear Alice, what on earth is the matter ? I have brought 
young Mr. 

Alice {C.) I know whom you have brought. Tell him that his errand 
here is useless— hopeless 

Cecil. "What accusation have you to urge against me, Mrs. Greville ? 
What have I done that you should greet me thus ? You are silent ! 
Surely I have some right to an explanation ! 



16 LOYE'S YOUNG DREAM. 

Alice. Tell him, father, that of all the men in this world he is the 
last that has a right to any explanation. 

Cecil. My conduct does not justify your retort. I love Florence, and 
I have asked her to be my wife. It is not my fault that you were ab- 
sent. I am a gentleman, whose honor no one has ever had cause to 
doubt. I have a right to love your daughter. 

Alice. Tell him, father, he has no such right. Bid him leave the 
house. 

Cecil. Heaven forbid that I should stay where I am not welcome. 
Your mother will not speak to me, Florence. You can tell her that I 
shall not swerve from my determination, and that I shall assert my 
right. (Re advances as if to take Florence's hand. Alice drags her 
away, and stands defiantly between them. Melbourne signs to Cecil 
to go ; he goes up and says) I can wait, Mr. Melbourne, I can wait. 

( Goes out, li. ) 

Flo. (bursting out). Cruel mother ! "Why have you done this ? 

Alice {coldly). Go to your room, I wish to speak to your grand- 
father. (FLORENCE; after a moment's pause, goes out sobbing bitterly, 
Melbourne having taken her to the door, L. ) 

Alice (to Melbourne). You have been aware of all this love-making 
in my absence 1 

Mel. (apologetically). "Well, my love, I am tolerably old, T admit, 
but I am neither blind nor deaf. And you really must excuse me, my 
love, if I say somewhat pointedly^ that I am quite at a loss to compre- 
hend "" (Sits on sofa, L.) 

Alice. Ah, father ! "Why did you never write to me of all this ? 

(Bits on sofa, B. 0/ Melbourne. ) 

Mel. "Well, really, you know I seldom write letters if I can 
help it, and of course I thought that Florence would tell you every- 
thing. 

Alice. "Why should you think that ? 

Mel. Well, I believe it is usual for children tc tell their parents 

Alice. Everything? Have I told \;ou everything, father? 

Mel. I never had reason to believe that you had secrets from me. 

Alice. Think again. Go back in memory to nineteen years ago. 
Remember my marriage. 

Mel. There was no concealment about that. 

Alice. The intense happiness of the three first years of my married 
life ! Ah ! how I adored my husband ! 

Mel. All the world could see it. 

Alice. Remember the time when Florence was my baby of two years 
old, and we went abroad for my health. 

Mel. To be sure. I was with you often in Italy during that year of 
absence. 

Alice. That terrible year ! You remem.ber its close when we were 
all at Florence — how my husband, Edward Greville, frequently left us 
for visits to Milan, Rome, and ISTaples, how those visits grew longer, 
and how estranged he seemed; how at last he left us, never to re- 
turn. 

Mel. Oh, my child, my child ! "Why should you recall this sorrow of 
your life ? I know it all. 

Alice. E"o, not all. You knew that Edward ran away with another 
man's w:ife, but you never knew her name. 



LOYE'S TOUifa DREAM. 17 

Mel. Ah, you did hide that from me. 

Alice. I kept the name as profound a secret from you as Florence 
has hidden it from me. 

Mel. And Florence has hidden it from you ? 

Alice. That woman's name was Mrs. Cecil Vavasour 

Mel. Great heavens ! Young Cecil's mother ? 

Alice. Ay ; he was a boy of nme years old, and since that time he 
has lived with his father, as ignorant of his mother's guilt as Florence 
has been of her father's crime. 

Mel. Ah, a fresh light breaks m upon me, Cecil Yavasour, the 
father, died a few years since from the effects of a wound received in a 
duel fifteen years ago— the lungs were permanently injured. Toung 
Cecil told me this himself 

Alice. God ! {Covers her face with her hands for a moment, then 
recovers herself) Tou see clearly now, father, that Florence and this 
boy must never meet again. (Rises aad goes, B.) 

Mel. {after a pause). No, I don't see that at all clearly. 

Alice. What ? 

Mel. Two wrongs don't make a right. (Rises.) If we have been un- 
happy, is that any reason why they should be unhappy, too ? 

Alice. It is not a question of unhappiness — theirs or ours— it is one 
of duty — mine ; and I say that my daughter shall never marry that 
woman's son. (Goes tip, C.) 

Mel. (R. C). Ah, beware! Force her to marry some one whom 
she does not love, and the fate of Cecil Yavasour' s mother may be 
hers. 

Alice. She shall marry whom she pleases — this one man excepted. 

(Comes down, L. C.) 

Mel. And if she says, I will marry no man but this one, wHl you 
doom her to misery for the sake of a fault she could not help ? 

Alice. A fault ? 

Mel. A crime— a sin— call Edward Greville's conduct by what 
name you will — is Florence to pay the penalty ? And has young Cecil 
suffered nothing? Who robbed him of his parents? Oh,"^ Alice, let 
these two young loving hearts come together, and see in their union 
the reparation of the past. 

Alice. You cannot move me — it shall not be ! 

(She goes to door and calls Florence.) 

Mel. Are you going to tell her 

Alice. ISTothing but my absolute refusal to allow her to exchange 
another word with that boy 

Unter Florence, L. 

Flo. You caUed me, mother? {Alice sta7ids, C.) 

Alice. Yes. I told you just now that I would sooner see you dead 
than the bride of that man for whom you pleaded— I spoke hastily— I 
spoke in anger (Melbourne goes up, B. C.) 

Flo. Ah, you relent ! 

Alice (sternly). No. I have called you here t« tell you that what 
I said hastily and in anger I now calmly and deliberately confirm. Be- 
tween you and that boy there lies a gulf that nothing can bridge over. 
Ask me no questions, for in mercy to^ yourself and him I will not an- 



18 LOVE'S XOU:N^a DEEAM. 

swer them. It must be enough for you that I, your mother, say you 
must never speak to him, see him, think of him again. 

Flo. {after a pause). You command me to do that which is impos- 
sible. I cannot obey you. {Crosses, B., and sinJcs into chair.) 

Alice. Florence! {Kneels hij chair.) Ah! you know how I have 
loved you — ^you know how my life has been one long tender guardian- 
ship of you ; how I have ministered to your happiness ; how I have 
sheltered you from sorrow. Can you believe now that I have not an 
overwhelming reason for what I do and say ? 

Flo. Tell me the reason. Let me be the judge. 

Alice. It cannot be. Some day, perhaps. 

Flo. Some day ! When love is cold, and life is dark. Ah, mother, 
it will be too late ! {Rises, goes, C.) 

Alice {coldly ; rises). I cannot argue with you. I have nothing 
more to add but this— disobey me now, and you are no longer my child. 
Ton must choose between me and him. 

Flo. Oh, mother, mother ! Is it possible you can be so hard ? Oh, 
papa ! why are you not living ? Tou would help me now ! 

Alice {E. ) Tain invocation ! He would say as I do. 

Flo. I do not believe it. Ah, I had forgotten. I have another 
secret, which I will keep no longer. 

Alice. A secret! 

Flo. A great friend of poor papa's came here this morning. 

Alice. Is the child raving ? 

{G-oes towards Florence; Melbovrnis goes down, B.) 

Flo. Oh, no ; and he spoke to me so tenderly, brought me a sweet 
message from the dead — he may have one for you whicb may make you 
change your mind. {Buns up to conservatory) He went out this way 
—where is he ? 

Alice {to Melbourne). In Heaven's name what does she mean ? 

Mel. I cannot tell — I have seen no one 

Flo. Ah, he is there — he is coming. 

Alice {recovering herself). It shall make no difference. {She goes 
down, B., just as Greville appears up, L.) 'So one has authority over 
you but I. 

Grev. {in a quiet voice). Have you forgotten me ? 

Alice turns slowly and gazes on GtREVIlle with an icy stare. ' 

Flo. Ah, you know him ! 

Alice. I did — once! {Turns to Melbourne) Oh, father! he has 
come to rob me of my shild ! {SinJcs into chair, JR., her head on table; 
Melbourne stands before her, his back to audience.) 

Flo. {to Greville, imploringly). Tou brought a kind message to 
me from j)oor papa. Have you none for her ? Can you not tell her he 
desired my happiness— that he left a last blessing for my marriage 
day. 

Grev. "What — you love— you wish 

Flo. Yes— I love an honorable gentleman, who ^s worth far more 
than a girl like I can give him ; he has asked me to be his wife, and oh, 
how thankfully I answered yes ; but mamma has bid me never speak to 
him, see him, think of him again ! You were my father's most intimate 
friend, you told me. Oh, in his name intercede for me with her ! 



LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM. 19 

Grev. Poor child 1 I cannot tell if she will listen to me, for we are 
strangers now. 

Flo. But she must have heard of one so kind as you are ; she must 
have heard your name — oh, tell her your name ! 

Alice {to Melbourne). For God's sake take the child away, or she 
will kill me. 

Mel. (goes uj) to Florence). Come into the garden with me, darling, 
for a while. Maybe, when we come back, we shall find this stranger 
and your mother better friends. (Florence, weepinrf, goes up, E. ; 
Grey iLLE makes a step toicards Melbotjrne, as if to take his hand; 
Melbourne draws back, saying, coldly) Not yet ! {He puts his arm 
round Florence's loaist and takes her out into garden.) 

Grev. {coming doicn, C.) Alice ! {She rises and makes a gesture as 
if to silence him.) Oh, no, I must speak ! Listen to me as patiently as 
you can ! I never sought to force this meeting ; I came here, believing 
that I should find in this house Cohmel Lyndsay, who in his letters had 
told me that he met you. I have been an exile long ; my own fault — 
my own sentence— my own punishment — I know it all ; but I have 
come back, and I sought to gain more tidings of you — to see and speak 
with one who had seen and spoken with you — with Florence, and acci- 
dent has brought us together face to face, 

Alice. I understand, and I believe you. Is there need of any 
further explanation ? You remember my last words to you ? 

Grev. I have them here. {Taking a worn letter from his pocket.) 
In this— the last letter that you ever "wrote to me — ^you tell me that you 
cannot forget, that you will not forgive ! 

Alice. I wrote those words with most deliberate intention. I 
remember the very day, the very hour ! And from the determina- 
tion of that letter I have never swerved, and I recall nothing now. 

{Crosses, L.) 

6^'ev. I know that it is impossible to forget, but pardon 

Alice, Ah, when you can erase the wretched past you may find the 
word forgiveness, but not till then. [Goes up, C.) 

Grev. (crossing, L.) Oh, would yon take from me that which I 
have nursed so long— the comfort oi my lonely life — the one word — 
Hope ? 

Alice. Useless to plead! 'Tis too late now. {Comes down, B.) 
Why are you here ? 

Grev, Because — though you may not believe it — because I am hu- 
man. Because in my solitary wanderings it has been my lot to sojourn 
in happy homes — see happy mothers— happy children ; and I have 
longed, oh, with what passionate earnestness! to know that my wife 
and child were happy, too. 

Alice. And what right had you to such a knowledge when, of your 
own set purpose, you had done all that man could do to wreck your 
home? 

Grev, Grant that I had no right. The meanest criminal may look 
for mercy somewhere in his sentence, and I indulged the yearning hope 
that I might, after all these years, see you and Florence, though but for 
one moment, and know that the st^in of my oflence was faded, and that 
vou both were happy. 

Alice {Utterly). You arrive opportunely. You see us miserable— 
you learn that the shadow of your own crime is dark about us still. 



20 LOYE^S YOITN^G DEE AM. 

Grev. But^ no. "When I saw her for a few minutes this morning 
she was all smiles and gaiety, and told me you were aU as happy as 
could be. 

Alice. Tou know what you have just seen. 

Grev. And I can scarcely comprehend it. A girl's first love. Some 
temporary obstacle— her youth — ^you could not be in earnest in demand- 
ing this sacrifice from her. 

Alice. N"ot in earnest ! Ah, Edward Greville, I repeat, it is the 
shadow of your crime that blights her young heart. 

Grev. Oh, Alice, no ! 

Alice. I tell you, yes ! Tou do not ask the name of her lover — 
learn it from these lips that you have taught to hate it, and cease to 
wonder at my resolve to part them when I say that it is Cecil Yava- 
sour. 

Grev. (starting). Cecil ! Oh, bitter retribution ! 

Alice (C.) jN"ow, see what you have done. It is not my heart only 
that is broken, you have shattered hers ! 

Grev. I ? Tou cannot say that it is I who have done this ! That it 
is my hand who takes her lover from her ! 

Alice. Tom- own cruel hand ! The sin of the father visited upon the 
child ! 

Grev. Ah, you are indeed inexorable ! You push your vengeance too 
far ! (Sinks on to sofa, L.) 

Alice. My vengeance ! Do you know what my life has been since you 
deserted us ? N^othing but one long watchful care of her. For myself 
I cared not. Tou had ruined all my interest in life external to my child; 
you had made my heart cold and callous to all else ; you made me old 
while I was stOl a girl— but have I complained ? I bore the agony of 
the blow you struck me without one murmur. 1 hid the bruise where 
no human eye could see It. I taught our daughter to cherish your 
memory as of one who died when he was young. I might have schooled 
her to despise and hate you, but I nurtured her innocence in tender love 
for you. I have done all this, and yet you talk to me of vengeance ! 

Grev. (rises). Oh, I recall the word ! I recognize your nobleness, 
your goodness, your self-sacrifice. "Why draw back now ? Why punish 
these two innocent hearts for guilt they never knew and never dreamed 
of? 

Alice. Because Florence shall never bear the name which, if she 
learnt its history, would scar her cheek with never-ending shame — for 
you ! 

Grev. But she will never know the story — for it was buried years ago. 
"What if I tell her that I am her father, assert my authority and say she 
shall marry the man she loves V 

Alice. You would dare do this ? 

Orev. I would dare all for her! See, she is in the garden with her 
lover and her grandfather. See how she sobs. Ah, I have returned in 
time. (Makes a step towards the garden door. ) 

Alice. For God's sake, stop | Carry out this headstrong impulse, and 
what I will dare ! I will say to Cecil Vavasour : Marry that child if you 
will ; but the man who gives her to you betrayed your mother, and 
killed your father. 

Grev. {with a cry of agony). Ah, silence ! Silence ! 

{Goes up, L. G.) 



LOVE'S YOUN^G DREAM. 21 

Melbourne appears at garden dow, R. 

Mel. {after regarding Greville and Alice). Alice, may I call these 
children in, and tell them that the cloud has passed away ? 

Alice. ]^o — if Florence has forgotten ber duty towards me 

Mel. Are you sure that you have remembered yours towards her ? 

Alice. Oh, am I not fulfilling it?— and at what a price ! 

( Come down, R. ) 

Mel. Are you so sm*e that you do not mistake the voice of duty for 
the passionate appeal of pride ? Ah, I kuow all that you ha ve^ suffered ; 
but I say that it is not for you to visit the sins of the father" upon the 
childreu. 

Alice. father, you do not know what you ask of me. {In chair, R.) 

Mel. For yonr child's sake ! For your own ! Persevere in what you 
call your duty, and that sad young face for evermore will mutely ask, 
"What have I done to deserve such chastisement as this ? 

Alice. It was his fault — his fault ! 

3Iel. No excuse for you. Be just, Alice, even if you have no pity. 
Eememher the prayers you taught her to Aisp beside your knee. How 
shall we hope for pardon if we forgive not those who do us wrong ? 

Alice (after struggling with her emotion). Let them come in ! (Mel- 
BOTJRNE, after emhrecing Alice, goes to garden door and beckons off. 
Greville goes up to him, and after a pause, Melbourne Ao^ds out his 
hand, which Greville grasps eagerly. Florence enters, followed by 
Cecil. ) 

Alice (doicn, C,) Florence ! (Florence comes down timidly.) I was 
harsh and cruel to you just now — forgive me ! 

Flo. Oh, mother! 

{She throws her arms round Alice's neck, and kisses her fondly.) 

Alice. Cecil Vavasour. 

Cecil. I am here, Mrs. Greville. ' ( Gomes, R. C. ) 

Alice. I withdraw all the angry words I used, and I ask your par- 
don. 

Cecil. Oh, they are forgotten. 

Alice. But you must promise one thing. 

Cecil. I promise faithfully ! 

Alice. Never ask me what bitter impulse prompted me to say them. 
Take Florence, and may your love and honor guard and guide her 
through a happy life. 

Cecil. Oh, mother, may I call }ou so— for I never knew one ! 
[He kisses her hand reverently, and crosses to Florence; Alice goes, B.) 

Flo. {suddenly). But where is papa's friend? {Turns and sees Gre- 
ville.) Oh, there he is. {Buns up to him.) Do I owe all this happi- 
ness to you ? 

Crrev. {smiling sorrowfully). I fear I cannot claim your gratitude — it 
is due to your grandpapa. 

Flo. Oh, to grandpapa ! {In a disappointed voice.) 

Mel. There's gratitude, indeed ! Why, you puss, you seem disap- 
pointed that it .is I and not he ! {Goes down, L. C, to Cecil.) 

Flo. Yes, just a little ! I should have liked poor papa's friend to have 
had something to do with it, for he has spoken to me so kindly, and if 



22 LOVE'S TOTJi^G DREAM. 

he had done this for me I could have kissed him for it ! Oh^ (seizing 
Greville's hand) I am so happy I could kiss anybody. 

{Puts up her face to he kissed.) 

Grev. But you know you must not kiss a strange gentleman without 
mamma's consent. 

Flo. May I, mamma? (Alice with a slight motion of her head assents). 
Of course I may. (G-reville kisses her fondly.) 

Grev. And now, good-bye, Florence. {Music till end.) 

Flo. Going away so soon ! Oh, mamma, don't let him go yet. 

Alice (without turning). How can I detain him if he desires to go ? 

Flo. I am sure that he has more to say. 

Grev. IsTo, nothing more ! 

FiO. (to Greville). Where do you live ? 

Grev. A long, long way off— in Australia. 

Fio. And shall you never come back ? 

Grev. (after looking at Alice, who still keeps her face averted). My 
mission here is ended. I think that I never shall come back. 

Flo. I am sorry, for I think I should like to see you again. Good- 
bye. (Shakes his hand sorrowfully, and goes down, to Cecil and Mel- 
bourne, down L. ; sits on sofa, L., with Cecil ; Melbourne gets up, C.) 

Grev. {approaching Alice, aside to her.) Farewell, Alice, I shall 
never disturb your peaceful life again. In my far-off solitary home I 
yearned to look upon your face once more. My prayer is granted. I 
know that you and Florence are happy— it is enough. Perhaps the 
time may come, when she is married, that you will write to me, and tell 
me that you forgive the past. 

Alice (suppressing 1}er tears). I will write. 

Grev. God bless you for that. Good-bye, Alice, good-bye ! (He 
turns, goes up and meets Melbourne and grasps his hand, then goes up 
B. ; Alice, with a sob, turns to follow him ; he pauses, turns and sees 
Alice's face. ) 

Alice. Edward? (She holds out her hand, and seizes it fervently ^ a 
happy smile comes over his face.) 



Tableau. 
CURTAIL". 



Pet Lamb, The. 

Pintof Ale, A. 

Poisoned Darkies, Th« 

Portrait Painter, The. 

Presented at Court. 

Princess, The. 

Prison and Palace. 

Private Inquiry, A. 

Puncli and Judy. 

Purty Shure Cure, A. 

Queen Mary. 

Quite at Home. 

Race Ball, The. 

Ralph Coleman's Reftinna- 

tion. 
Relinenient. 
Result of a Nap, The. 
Ringdoves, The. 
Robin Hood. 
Rob, The Hermit. 
Rosebud ; or, Thv. Sleeping 

Beauty. 
Rumplestiltskin, 
Sayings and Doings. 
School for Schemmg. 
School for Tigers. 
Sentinel, The. 
Shamrock. 



Shylork, l.urlesque. 

Sign of Affection, A. 

Single Life. 

Sir Dagobert and the Dragon. 

Skinflint. 

Slight Mistake, A. 

Slighted Treasures. 

Spelling Match, The. 

Spitfire, The. 

Stage-struck Yankee. 

Ten Nights in a Bar-Room. 

There's Millions in it. 

Those " Cussed " Warei. 

Thoughts Before Marriage. • 

Three Grocers, The. 

Three Temptations. 

Tiper at Large, The. 

Tipperary Legacy, The. 

Tittlebat a Father. 

To Let, Furnished. 

Tootle. Tootle, Too. 

Too Windy for an Umbrella. 

Tragedy Transmogrified. 

Trip to Cambridge, A. 

Twenty and Forty. 

Twin Brothers, The. 

Two Gentlemen at Mivart's. 



Uncle Jack. 
United States Mail. 
Vermont Wool-Dealer. 
Village Belle, The. 
Village Doctor. The. 
Vil likens and Dinah. 
Virginia Mummy, Th«. 
Virtue Victorious. 
Wanderer's Return, The. 
Wardrobe. 
Weak Points. 

Wearmg of the Green, The. 
Whisky Fiend, The. 
Who Got The Pig I 
Who Stole the Spoons t 
Who'.s Your Friend T 
WhvDid You Die?. 
Wicked World, The. 
Wild Flowers. 
Wine Cup. The. 
Woman of the World, The. 
Woman will be a Woman A. 
Women's Club, The. 
Women's Rights. 
Wreck, The. 
Wrong Bottle, The. 
Yankee Peddler, The, 



THE ETHIOPIAN DRAMA. 



Actor and Singer. 

Aunty Chloe. 

Black Mail. 

Black Shoemaker 

Black Statue. 

Bones at a Raffle. 

Bt)ne Squash. 

Box and CoX. 

Oamille. burlesque. 

Challenge Dance. 

Chris Johnson. 

Coon Hunt, De. 

Cooney in de Hollow, 

Coopers, The. 

Ccirsican Twins. 

Oeam ob Tenors, D«. 

Creole Ball, Th«. 

Dancing Mad. 

Darky's Dream, D«. 

Darky Tragedian, De. 

Dat Same Old Coon. 

Deaf — In a Horn. 

Debbil and Dr. Fanstoni, 

De. 
Debbil and de Maiden, De. 
Desdeinonura. 

Dixie, our Culler'd Bnidder. 
Don Cato and de Big Bassoon, 
Elephant on Ice, .4n 
Fighting for the Union. 
Gallus Jake. 

Ghost of Bone Squash, The. 
Haunted House, The. 



PRICE, 15 CENTS EACH 

Highest Price Paid for Old 

Clothes. 
Howls from the Owl Train. 
Hunk's Wedding Day. 
Hypochondriac, The. 
Jolly Millers. 
Juba. 

Juhe Hawkins. 
.Tulianna Johnson- 
King Cuflee. 
Lea Miserables. 
Lucinda's Wedding. 
Magic Penny. The. 
Maid of de Hunkpancas, De. 
Manager in a Fix, A. 
Mischevious Nigger. 
Mishaps of Cesar Crum- 
Mumbo Jum. 
Mysterious Stranger^ 
New Year's Calls. 
Night Wid Brudder Jones, A. 
Nobody's Son. 
No Cure, No Pay. 
Octoroon, De. 
Oh. Hush I 
Old Dad's Cabin. 
Old Gum Game, De. 
Old Hunks. 

Old Kentucky Home, De. 
Old Uncle Billy. 
Old Zip Coon. 
Pete and Ephraim, 



Pete's Luck. 

Popsy Dean. 

Porgy Joe. 

Possum Fat. 

Quack Doctor, The. 

Quarrelsome Servantg. 

Rival Lovers. 

Rival Mokes. 

Robert Make-Airs. 

Rooms To Let, Without 



** Rose Dale." 

Sambo's Return. 

Scenes at Gurneys. 

Scipio Africanus. 

Sham Doctor, The. 

Sixteen Thousand Years 

Amo. 
Sports on a Lark. 
Stage-struck Darkv, The. 
Thieves at the Mill. 
Three Black-Sniiihs, The. 
Ticket-Taker, The. 
Trail ob Blood, De. 
Trouble Begins at Nine, De. 
Tiuublesome Servant. 
•Turkeys in Season. 
Uncle Jeff. 
Uncle Tom. 
Under de Kerosene. 
Up Head. 
liamTell. 



X^l 



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